


...if I let go.

by Yui_Miyamoto



Category: Gravitation
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cross-Posted on LiveJournal, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-20
Updated: 2005-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29725533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yui_Miyamoto/pseuds/Yui_Miyamoto
Summary: Yuki waits for Shuichi to come back for a tour.
Relationships: Shindou Shuuichi/Yuki Eiri





	...if I let go.

**Disclaimer - Gravitation is by Murakami Maki-san  
  
**  
I look at the calendar where he marked that he’ll be coming back.  
  
I sigh and feel a little tense, close to insane. As soon as I take off my glasses, I press on my temples with my fingers.  
  
It seems that no one seems to understand (nor do I want them to) that when I am alone, I’m not scared of being by myself because I know I can function alone. It’s the idleness of not my actions, but the fact that I will start thinking of unnecessary things. The restlessness of my itinerant mind takes over all my reasonable faculties.  
I tap my fingers on the wooden desk and the silence starts to permeate into every possible corner. I keep on saying that I can get over it, but then my hands hover over the keys to molest the letters of my laptop just to make sure that I’m still alive. I push and it pushes back on my fingers as if it knows what it means to fight back.  
  
Like memories, these little pricks of effort pretend to be animate objects protesting against you.  
  
I keep on telling myself it’s all right as I keep on typing away. The pain will eventually go away when I tack words onto them. If I close my eyes, I won’t have to face myself until I edit all the words. Is this what it all means?  
I just can’t seem to let go.  
  
Of what exactly? Many, many things, it seems.  
Where? Don’t know.  
Who? Then or now?  
  
What is the genre of my life? I can’t exactly say comedy, but is it all together a tragedy? But then again, I might be attracting pity that I’m not actually searching for. Sympathy of that awful nature attaches to you when people don’t know the situation or interpret it the way they want to…  
  
That’s what books are also, isn’t that correct?  
  
It’s rather kind of sad.  
  
Though I want to cry, it’s all coming out into a piece of fiction. My blood put into little itty bitty letters chosen by my own mind as if it’s all sane to begin with.  
All these mishaps cause me to have an inner seizure, my fingers twitch to keep on writing as if there is something significant in what I have to say. I keep on telling myself so.  
  
I want to go, but my mind can’t leave my body.  
  
So, I have to do it in another way…  
  
I look around, but I’m bound to the work that keeps on piling up in documents all over my electronic desktop. I take out a cigarette, but I constantly think without end. I get up and walk around the apartment with a serious expression and my insides twisting into a frantic state. I keep on walking as if there is a purpose to it, a place to go.  
  
All I am in is a cage of my own design.  
I just painted it with many beautiful, mental color pictures that erased as they reached the walls. The walls remain purely white no matter what I do.  
  
I don’t know if I want to tack anything on or keep on erasing it all away…  
  
There’s the balcony, but his imposing, cute image keeps on coming into view.  
  
Until now, these lapses come whenever he goes. These are things I can’t tell him because I don’t want him to worry. But when he comes back from the tours, I pull him into the apartment and start to kiss him desperately. It is more than an ‘I miss you’. It isn’t even close to ‘I love you’.  
  
I can’t even say your name.  
It gets lost in my throat, constricted inside my blood and air.  
  
In an attempt to replace the pain, I keep on trying to find other ways to ease it. There’s that masochist inside of me seeking infliction. I’m sometimes impatient and eat you alive. At other times, I push you away without meaning to.  
I’m not used to being so complacent. I look composed, but that’s another word for repression.  
  
I put the cigarette into the ashtray on the coffee table. When I go back into my office, I sit down to look at the screen with the blinking marker slowly taunting me to write again. I sigh as I stare at it listlessly.  
  
There’s no reason to feel this way. There is no justification to why these things come back to me, but I can’t help but want to cry. No one would understand. They’ll say it’s because of the past. All the things have accumulated. But no one thinks I’ve been worrying about the future too.  
Even though he says he’ll stay, I want to be enough. He says it’s okay, but there’s that part of me that needs that reassurance. Is that too selfish?  
  
I am acting like a child all over again, like when I told him I wanted to be the first in his life. I didn’t want to be below anything. Not even his work.  
  
But the triggers come from the oddest and simplest of things. I’ll be watching something on tv or reading an article in the paper. It doesn’t matter, but there are reminders everywhere.  
I just can’t understand if it’s because I want to be reminded so that I won’t forget the past that’s supposed to be unbelievably mine? Am I just forcing myself to accept what’s happened or am I missing something that I’ll never regain?  
  
Maybe it’s a combination of all things. Because it’s all intangible, I can’t strangle them or get an answer. After all, you give exactly what you’ve taken in life, whatever scraps Fate wants to hand out to you because of guilty, conniving duty.  
  
There are nights that when he sleeps in the room, I’m writing and I suddenly have to stop. I have to hold onto him and force myself to sleep. Or, there are those days I interrupt his sleep to feel his body under me so that I know I am complete.  
There is nothing wrong…  
  
Yes, I keep on telling myself there’s nothing wrong because he’s here.  
  
It isn’t loneliness any longer and it isn’t fear.  
No, that isn’t it at all.  
  
My eyes see our picture of his arms wrapping around me from behind. I pretend that he is here holding onto me right now.  
As I calm down and look at the window, I sigh and turn towards the laptop once more. I put on my glasses again to carefully regard the words that are supposed to convey the ugliness and beauty of my own world for the perusal of a reader’s fingertips.  
  
I’m going crazy because of all this thinking. The past, the present, and the future come back into single, periodic moments that tear at me in little pieces, pinning me into sections of novels. I solidify them into print so as to not forget the memories that have begun to become hazy, even the ones that only happened a month ago.  
  
“I miss you,” slips from my lips and I’m too ashamed to admit it to myself.  
  
I know there is no reason for worry about him or nervousness on my part. It isn’t even the seed of doubt taking root in our firm foundation. We know each other too well and we’re both very sure of ‘us’ to the point it’s impossible to think of the times we tore each other away out of care and consideration.  
  
But there are still these days that occur from time to time.  
A small nightmare erupts within me and I’m trapped not knowing where to go, feeling like I did many years ago, pinned and ripped to shreds on the ground. I can’t call out because it’s all in my head now while it immerses more into me along with those insults of being ‘different’ in the way I looked and acted.  
Lapses into old wounds because of an innocent dream, a picture, song, or other inside the apartment or randomly while walking down the street. They crack, bend, and bleed all over again once in a while.  
  
I take up the cup of coffee on the left side of the desk. It is lukewarm, but I drink it anyway.  
  
 **+/+/+/+/+/+/+/**  
  
 _“Just drive,” he tells himself as he holds onto the steering wheel and leans on the door with his elbow halfway out the window. He keeps telling himself this because there’s nothing else to say. But he can’t live with the silence of the road, even if the wind is blowing quickly through his ears.  
  
“Let go of yourself.” This is his mantra until he makes it to his destination: The house on the hill. His fate will be decided there.  
  
But when he finally gets there, he passes by the lonely house with a single light brightening up the living room. He slips past the owner and shakes his head with tears in his eyes. He makes it to the back. When he reaches the high, picturesque cliff, he holds his arms out.  
  
When he turns around, there is his lover running towards him, calling his name over and over.  
  
But the ocean gets into his ears and his lips say goodbye-_  
  
“Yuki! I’m home! We got off a little bit early because of technical difficulties that even Seguchi-san couldn’t find a way to fix. So I’m back!”  
He hears the boy drop his bags noisily onto the ground to run into the office.  
  
He closes his eyes for a moment because he’s so happy to have him back. He opens them again to find him there. Even though there is no smile on his lips, his eyes almost betray his deep relief when he turns his head to regard him with feigned nonchalance.  
“Yuki!” Shuichi, even at age 25, still runs up to him whenever he comes home. He wraps his arms around him and gives him a long kiss to tell him that he’s here.  
  
He’s home.  
  
Once again, he’s been saved.  
  
“Shuichi…” He doesn’t say anything more as they kiss for a bit longer before he picks him up to carry him to plaster him onto the wall just outside of the bedroom…  
  
Yes, today, he can sleep soundly.  
There is no empty space between him and the wall tonight. Shuichi will be in between all of that, warmly snuggled against him and mumbling all those words he writes into his books.  
  
Kissing his sweaty forehead, the most important ones are whispered into his ear when he’s sleeping.  
Shuichi watches Yuki and pushes his blond bangs behind his ears. He smiles wider than before even though there are still tears in his eyes. It’s more than the aching of his tired body, but the silent screams Yuki keeps inside of him.  
  
He was right after all. He could feel the aching in his heart that Yuki needed him right then, even when everyone shouted at him not to abandon everything so selfishly…  
  
Still, he holds him closely and grins more than before.  
  
“As long as you are here, I’ll be, Yuki.”  
  
Unconsciously, Yuki’s apprehensive face relaxes and his lips reveal the sweetest smile Shuichi has ever seen. It is one that only he can see.  
  
No matter what the world demands of him, this is the only thing that means the most.  
  
 _I’ll lose my mind if I let go._  
  
  
 **Owari.  
**

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came out of fit of insanity. It is simple, yet complex in its conciseness. And by the end of editing it, I began to cry, thinking, “Did I put enough?”
> 
> Love,  
> Yui


End file.
